Second Marriage

by Helen Brooks

  'Interested?' Claire laughed bitterly. 'I think he'd tell you that himself, but only as far as how we'd be in bed together and that's not enough for me—not feeling as I do. Look—' she turned round to face the room, forcing a smile to her face '—don't look so tragic—it's not the end of the world. I'll get over it.' Never, her mind shouted.

  'For now we've both got to get ready for the party, and then I'll only have another day with you. We aren't going to spoil it talking about this. Go on, go and start getting ready and I'll do the same,' she said brightly, walking across and giving Grace a hug before ushering her to the door. 'We'll eat, drink and be merry, yes?' Her words mocked her.

  'I feel awful about this, and I can't believe Romano has behaved so badly,' Grace said miserably as she stepped onto the landing. 'I feel I don't know him.'

  'He hasn't, oh, Grace, he hasn't,' Claire said quickly. 'He told me right from the beginning, when he realised we were physically attracted to each other, that a short affair was all he could offer. He was totally up-front, it was me that…well, you know. The trouble is I didn't choose to fall in love with him,' she added quietly, her brown eyes liquid pools. 'It just happened. I didn't want it to.'

  'I know.' Grace stared at her for a moment and then hugged her again before turning and walking quickly away, her head bent.

  This was going to be one riot of a party, Claire thought grimly as she forced herself to turn on the shower and begin preparing for the night ahead. Grace would tell Donato and that would mean both of them would be feeling uncomfortable and upset, and the very last thing in the world she felt like doing herself was smiling and chatting and being sociable. Romano wouldn't come, of course…

  She stripped off the bikini and stepped under the warm silky water in the smart shower cubicle, letting the flow wash over her upturned face for some minutes be­fore she began to wash the chlorine out of her hair. But she couldn't have fobbed Grace off with an excuse, not again, not after what Donato had seen and surmised. What a mess. What an incredible, tangled, painful, messy mess.

  'You look gorgeous.'

  As Claire walked into the drawing room where Grace and Donato were sitting waiting for the first guests to arrive her friend's undisguised admiration and Donato's open-mouthed stare confirmed what the mirror had al­ready told her: the dress had been worth every penny. The only trouble was the person it had been bought for would never see it.

  Nevertheless, their reaction enabled her to say, with a lightness that was purely manufactured but which she hoped would put them at their ease, 'Do I normally look that bad, then?'

  'Not at all.' Donato recovered first, leaping to his feet and smiling as he said, 'What would you like to drink? Your usual white wine?'

  'No, not tonight.' Tonight she needed something more than white wine to get her through. 'Is that one of your cocktails you're drinking?' she asked brightly, indicating the glass of pale amber liquid Donato had placed by the side of his chair. The golden frothy drink looked as harmless as ginger ale, but to the uninitiated it had the kick of a mule, and that was just what she needed, she told herself desperately. 'I'll have one of those, if I may.'

  'What a good idea.' Grace, who never touched any­thing stronger than wine herself, nodded in agreement. 'I'll have one too.'

  'Right.' Donato clearly didn't consider it a good idea, but just as clearly he wasn't going to argue in view of the circumstances.

  By the time the first guests arrived some thirty minutes—and two cocktails—later, Claire was feeling a little more relaxed and Grace was positively fluid—so much so that Donato removed his wife's glass with its last dregs and carefully refilled it with fruit juice.

  'Well, here we go, then,' Grace muttered in an aside to Claire as they heard Anna open the door and speak a welcome in volatile Italian. 'The party from hell is about to begin.'

  'Oh, Grace.' She hadn't thought anything could bring a smile to her lips tonight, but her friend's dramatic com­ment, which nevertheless exactly summed up how she was thinking about the evening, managed it. It somehow confirmed Grace's love and support too, more than any flowery words or demonstrative shows of affection could have.

  The party did begin, and continued to move on, but that was the most Claire could say about it. She smiled until her face ached, laughed and chatted and accepted the numerous compliments that came her way with grace and aplomb, avoided Attilio's love-lorn gaze whenever she could and smiled brightly at him when she couldn't, and all the time her heart was breaking.

  There seemed to be so many subtle reminders of Romano within the elegant, wealthy crowd. The elusive whiff of aftershave on clean male skin, the way the odd male held his head, an occasional husky laugh, the broad set of a pair of muscled shoulders…

  'How are you doing?' Grace slipped a supportive arm around Claire's waist as she murmured in her ear, 'Donato is full of admiration for you and the way you're handling this, you know.'

  'Is he?' It was no comfort at all.

  'I'm going to announce the food is ready in the mar­quee in a minute, and there'll be dancing on the main lawn afterwards—the band's just arrived. You will eat something, won't you?'

  'Of course I will. Stop worrying,' Claire said quietly.

  She did manage to force a small amount of the food Attilio insisted on fetching past the lump in her throat, but her plate was still three-quarters full when she pushed it away. Dusk was beginning to cast blue-grey shadows over the garden, and already the hundreds of tiny lights that were threaded through the surrounding trees twinkled and shone in the dim light.

  The whole scene—the exquisitely dressed women with their elegant partners, the beautiful garden with the majestic lines of Casa Pontina in the background, the lilting music from the band to which several couples were already dancing—took on a slightly unreal quality as she gazed around, becoming dreamlike, illusory.

  'Claire?' Attilio rose from his seat beside her, bending slightly as he stretched out his hand. 'You will dance with me? Please? I would like to have that to remember,' he added, somewhat pathetically.

  'I don't really feel like dancing, Attilio.' The thought of any other man holding her in his arms was obnoxious right at that moment, besides which the band were play­ing a slow, romantic number, and she didn't want to encourage the desperate devotion that had been on Attilio's face all night into something else.

  'Please?' He continued to stand there, his hand out­stretched, and after a few embarrassing moments when she was aware of covert glances in their direction, she rose to her feet.

  'Just one dance, then,' she said gently.

  'Sì.' He smiled, a warm, adoring smile, and she wondered, for the umpteenth time that night, why she couldn't have fallen in love with the handsome young tutor instead of Romano. Everything would have been so simple then—so straightforward, so easy.

  On reaching the dance floor he took her immediately into his arms, fitting her close against him as they began to dance—and he danced very well, she realised ruefully. He probably did everything very well, but he wasn't Romano.

  'Claire, you will come back soon, sì?' he asked softly, after a few moments. 'Here to Casa Pontina?'

  It was the same question he had asked her a hundred times in the last two weeks and she gave the same reply as she always did, 'No, I don't think so.'

  'But, Claire…'

  And then she saw him, a flash of white catching her eye as she looked over Attilio's shoulder. Romano, re­splendent in a white dinner jacket and dark trousers, was leaning lazily against the trunk of an old magnolia tree at the perimeter of the lawn, his lean body relaxed and still as he stared her way. The dim light, and the dis­tance, made it impossible for her to see his expression but she knew, without the shadow of a doubt, that the black eyes were cold and condemning as he watched her dance with the other man.

  She faltered, missing her step, and suddenly realised that she hadn't heard a word Attilio had been saying for the last minute. 'I'm sorry?' With a great effort she dragged her eye
s away from the figure across the lawn. 'I was dreaming—what did you say?' she asked dazedly.

  'I said—' He broke off as her eyes flickered from him again and half turned, following the direction she had been looking. 'That is Romano over there?' he asked quietly as he took in the remote, stationary figure in the distance.

  'Yes—yes, I think so.' She had frozen at first, but now found a rising anger was beginning to take hold of her senses. How could he? How could he act with such in-sensitivity? she asked herself bitterly. What had he come here for? A civilised goodbye? A neat tidying of the messy ends? Well, he was in for a shock because she didn't think she was capable of either tonight, right or wrong as that might be.

  She loved him. She had laid her heart bare before him and told him exactly how she felt. Didn't he realise how painful this was?

  'Ah, I see. Now much that has puzzled me becomes clear,' Attilio said thoughtfully, his eyes sad as they left Romano and came back to rest on her face. 'This is the reason that you leave Italy so abruptly, Claire?'

  She thought about evading the question, even about downright lying, but somehow she couldn't, and so she nodded slowly. 'Yes.' She looked straight into Attilio's eyes now. 'Yes, it is.'

  He nodded in turn. 'So we both have the broken hearts? I am sorry, Claire, I would not wish that it was so. It would be a convenient thing if love could be turned on and off—like the tap, you know? But it is not pos­sible, is it.'

  'No.' His understanding and sympathy was too much in her vulnerable state, and as the tears flooded into her eyes he pulled her close, his voice soft. 'I am sorry, I did not want to make you cry,' he said quietly into the shining silk of her hair.

  'I know.' Her voice was muffled as she spoke into his chest. 'It's just that I'm so sorry I've made you unhappy. I didn't want to,' she added chokingly. 'Really, Attilio.'

  'You do not have to tell me that. You are one of the most gentle, kind—'

  'I hate to interrupt this somewhat public embrace, but I need to speak with you, Claire.' If ice particles had formed in the air around them she wouldn't have been surprised, so cold was Romano's voice.

  Her head sprang up at the same time as Attilio's arms tightened still further round her, and when she looked into Romano's dark face at the side of them she saw his eyes were blazing with an emotion that was hot and caustic, his mouth set in a straight, grim line.

  'Perhaps Claire does not wish to speak with you.' For a moment she couldn't believe Attilio had dared to take such a stance with Romano, and it was clear that Romano was taken aback—but only for a moment.

  His eyes narrowed into thin, glittering slits that threat­ened to annihilate the slightly smaller man on the spot, and as he took a step forward Claire jerked herself free from Attilio's hold, her face flushed and distressed. 'It's all right. I'll come.'

  'Claire, you do not have to speak to him—'

  'The hell she does not,' Romano growled darkly.

  'It's all right, Attilio, really.' She tried to dredge up a reassuring smile but it was beyond her. 'I…I need to talk to him. I'll be back soon. Please, people are look­ing.'

  As the three of them left the group of people dancing Romano took her elbow in a firm grip, only to swing round violently as Attilio said from just behind them, 'You had better not hurt her—'

  'It will not be Claire who feels my fist—'

  'Romano.' She hung onto his arm and cast an ago­nised glance of appeal at Attilio. 'Please, Attilio, just leave it—please.'

  As Attilio nodded and turned away Romano swore softly and savagely under his breath, and then she was being whisked across the garden by the bruising hand under her elbow so fast she was sure she was going to fall. She couldn't believe the ferociousness with which the two men had confronted each other. To her knowl­edge they had never before had a cross word, and yet for a minute back there it had looked as though they were going to kill each other.

  'You think I am a fool, is that it?' His words were a low snarl as they reached a clump of sweet-smelling bushes and entered a different part of the garden, hidden from view for the party revellers. 'Embracing in full view of everyone with that…that clown?'

  'We weren't embracing.' She jerked herself free so suddenly that he let her go, and then she turned to face him like a small tigress and spat, 'And what's it to do with you, anyway? Attilio is a friend—'

  'I know what Attilio is,' he shot back violently, 'and also what he would like to be to you. Moreover, you know it too—full well. Given half a chance—'

  'He didn't get half a chance.' How could you love someone so much that it tore you apart inside at the same time as wanting to leap on them and bite and scratch and destroy? she asked herself dazedly.

  'No?' It was said with magnificent scorn. 'You could have fooled me.'

  'Why should I want to do that?' she asked bitterly. 'Why are we even having this conversation? All that could be said was said earlier. I mean nothing to you beyond a romp between the sheets—a quick lay.' It was crude and it was blunt and it was exactly what was send­ing her half-mad with pain and regret, but she knew the second the words left her lips that she had gone too far.

  She wanted to turn and run at the look on his face as he towered over her, his eyes glittering with unholy fire, but she was frozen to the spot, utterly terrified. She could hear the sounds of the party in the distance, feel the soft warmth of the Italian night on her skin, smell the sweet perfume of summer all around, but here, in this private little spot, she was completely at his mercy—and she had never been so scared in her life.

  'This is what you believe?' he asked tautly. 'This is why you were allowing that moron to hold you, kiss you? And what would have come next if I had not made an appearance?' A hard hand fastened on her wrist as her wits returned and she took a step backwards, ready for flight. 'Answer me, Claire, what would have come next?' he bit out grimly, his grip tightening to steel on her soft flesh as he pulled her close to him again. 'A walk in the garden among the shadows of night? An intimate little interlude when he told you hew much he loved you, that he could not live without you, that he must have you?'

  'And what if he did?' she bit out furiously, her fright swallowed in the red-hot rage that was pulsing through her body in ever-increasing ferocity. 'I'm a free agent, aren't I? Just like you, Romano. No strings, no com­mitments, a little fun here and a light affair there—'

  'You are not like that!' The words were torn out of him and he shook her none too gently, his eyes blazing. 'Dammit, Claire…' She tried to turn her head as she realised his intention but his lips captured hers before she could escape him, and in spite of everything—his arrogance, his accusations, the sheer unreasonableness of it all—she felt herself melt into him as her love for him took over.

  It was crazy, madness. She was behaving like those women she had always secretly despised even whilst pitying them—women who allowed themselves to be treated as doormats, who became walking zombies con­trolled by the partners they adored… The thoughts were there, in the raging tumult of her head, but they carried no weight. He was holding her, kissing her, and that was all that mattered.

  Maybe, if he had been rough, threatening, using his superior male strength to dominate and subdue, she might have been able to fight the weakness that had in­vaded her limbs. Maybe. But he was none of those things. He was cradling her against the broad, hard ex­panse of his chest, his mouth passionately tender and his strong hands moving over her body in an agony of desire as he tasted the sweetness of her mouth. 'Claire, Claire…' His voice was a desperate murmur against her lips. 'I want you. I want you so badly…'

  And she wanted him, more than he would ever know, she thought helplessly. Would it be so bad to take one night, one magical night of love that would have to last her for the rest of her life? She drove herself deeper into the hard frame of him, her response firing the desire that was shaking his body still more as his hand twisted the rich silk of her hair, bringing her head back and allowing him greater access to her mo
uth, her throat, the soft swell of her breasts.

  She was quivering in his arms, he could almost taste her moistness, and the white-hot fire that was ravaging his body with a desire that was indescribable had taken him beyond the brink of holding back. This was what he had feared when he came here tonight. It had to stop—he had to stop. But he had never known anything like this before… The thoughts were tearing through his brain even as he lowered her onto the soft warm grass, the cool, hard control that he had prided himself on all his life consumed by heat.

  'Claire?'

  Grace's voice, made sharp by worry, cut through the night like a whistling blade, and had much the same effect on the two people hearing it.

  'Claire? Where are you? Are you all right?'

  Romano rose instantly, lifting Claire to her feet almost without her being aware of it, and then steadying her as she stood swaying, her eyes enormous and dazed and her hair tousled.

  'We are here, Grace.' His voice was cold and con­tained, his handsome face dark and imperious with no hint of the passion that had consumed it moments earlier, and the shock of the transformation brought Claire to her senses like a douche of cold water would have done. She pulled herself from his hold, smoothing her hair with shaking hands and adjusting her clothing moments be­-fore Grace rounded the corner, stopping abruptly at the sight of them standing stiff and stony-faced in front of her.

  'Are…are you all right?' Grace asked uncertainly as she glanced at Claire. 'I…Attilio said you had gone to talk to Romano and that you had been some time. He thought there might be something wrong.'

  'But as you can see he was mistaken,' Romano said, with a silkiness that told Claire the other man's inter­ference was something he would not forget. 'Claire is quite safe.'

  'Oh, I didn't think…' Grace's voice trailed away for a moment before she drew herself up a little straighter and said, her voice resolute and determined, 'Do you want to come back to the party, Claire?'

  Sisterhood. Romano's eyes narrowed slightly as he watched Grace move close to Claire and put an arm round her waist. He had heard of the phenomenon, of course, but the bright social butterflies and hard busi­nesswomen he usually came into contact with didn't consider that sort of thing important. It was the final irony that of all the women he had known the only two that he could fully respect, one of whom he loved like a sister and the other, the other… He closed his mind to the searing groan at the heart of him. Both were now united against him. Dammit…